


Last mile in the pale light

by starlightwalking



Series: in the midst of the innumerable stars [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Angst, Doriath Week 2019, F/M, The Sack of Nargothrond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 11:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21178907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: Mablung should have known Niënor would follow him to Nargothrond, but it was too late now.





	Last mile in the pale light

**Author's Note:**

> For Doriath Week 2019 Day 5: Mablung! Thanks to Em for [your fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19552684/chapters/46456507) that hooked me on this pairing & for helping organize this event :)
> 
> This story is set in the same Star Wars AU as my fic [I hope I die in the arms of a child](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995718/chapters/42511784) [and also a brief [Gil-galad thing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309636) I wrote that's narratively unconnected], but looking at a side of the story that I won't be diving into in that fic (considering it's from Beleg's POV). I was hoping on updating that fic (which I've lovingly dubbed "Narn Wars" in my head) for today too, since it's also a day for celebrating Beleg, but uhhh that didn't happen. Hopefully soon though! I will finish it!
> 
> The title of this fic comes from the same song from which I took the title of Narn Wars (the actual long title, not my silly nickname), "Time Can Never Kill the True Heart" by Stars.

Mablung ground his teeth in frustration as Morwen's ship sped away toward the burning wreck that was the planet of Nargothrond. To his warriors he barked, "Follow her, shields up, cloaks if you have them, broadleaf formation!"

At his command the dozen ships surrounding him chase after her, making quick work of catching up to her. Morwen may once have been a pilot, but that was a lifetime ago; she could fly straight into her doom, but she would not do it unprotected.

"Captain? What about you?" a voice crackled over the com: M-02, the soldier who'd been with him longest.

"At your back. Focus on the Lady."

Mablung pulled up his shields and cloak, ready to back up his squad, but he noticed something strange: one of his warriors had not shot after Morwen, but hung back, their cloaking device flickering on and off. This was one of the new folk, fresh from the barracks, to replace the warriors he'd lost last week. It seemed their ship was malfunctioning.

"M-08, status?" he asked.

There was silence from the other end. A bad feeling settled in the pit of Mablung's stomach as he asked again: "M-08, tell me your status, this is an order."

"Cloak's not working, Captain," a gruff voice mumbled back.

"Half the squad doesn't have a cloak on their battle-pods," he snapped. This was no time for hanging back! "Get in there—broadleaf formation, you know the drill."

The cloak switched on and stayed on, disappearing from the empty space. On Mablung's tracker, however, the ship did not move.

"M-08, you are disobeying a direct order," he warned, "get in there now or I will report you to the King himself!"

"Mablung—" Even over the com, he could hear the voice break. "I can't—"

He swore, not bothering to spare her ears; he'd heard her shout worse when arguing with her mother. She'd called him worse, after he'd refused to let her come along. "Niënor! I should have known!"

His anger was real, but the fear behind the words was not. He was remembering now her smirk as she walked away from him, having kissed him in the pale light of dawn that very morning. That had not been a farewell, but a a promise, he realized belatedly. And one he truly _should_ have known the meaning of.

"Yes, you _should_ have," she cried out, "and you should have helped me instead of trying to stop me!"

"That was not my decision to make," he growled, though, in truth it _had_ been. Thingol would have let her come, had Mablung pressed. But he cared for her too much—more than he wanted to admit, and now... "I would tell you to go back, but it's too dangerous to leave you here. Come on."

"I was going to whether you want me to or not!" Niënor shouted. She didn't say what hung between them, didn't acknowledge what she'd done that morning, but she didn't have to. He knew.

Too angry for words, Mablung sped away. She followed him, shutting off her com, and that was good, he thought. If she'd kept it on he'd have kept talking, and she might have picked up on just how scared he was for her.

* * *

He'd seen the _Wyrm_ before, in the last great and terrible battle, but not this close. He watched in terror as its cannons destroyed the countryside, and he could only imagine the horrors in Nargothrond's underground streets as the tunnels collapsed with the weight and heat atop them. There were other ships, too, Orctroopers in their own battle-pods; together they tore apart any defending warrior ships and a few of Mablung's squad, too.

"We're down half our fighters!" M-04 screamed over the com. "I've lost sight of the Lady—fuck, incoming—"

Mablung winced as he saw M-04 get hit with a blast of the _Wyrm_'s fire and disintegrate. The warship hadn't even been intending to hit them; they just got caught in the blast. Such was the might of the Empire's "dragon" destroyers.

"Niënor, stay by me," he murmured into his com. He hid in a cloud, laying low, observing. From time to time he was able to shout out a warning to one of his warriors and save them from enemy fire, but it was chaos down there. Who on earth had convinced Orodreth to open up their skyport? It was a fatal error on the part of Nargothrond's king—and Mablung could see that this was just the remnant of the hidden planet. Most had already been killed or captured.

"What if he's down there?" Niënor demanded. "What if Túrin—"

"Then there's no point in you endangering yourself too," he hissed, fear pricking his heart. "Stay _back_. It's bad enough your mother rushed in!"

"Captain!" shouted M-02. "Captain, there's just two of us left. Go! We ain't gonna make it. The Lady's gone, we've lost her. Go—tell my kids I love them."

"Mother!" Niënor wailed. She thrust her ship forward, past Mablung, out of the safety of the cloud bank.

"Niënor!" Mablung yelled. "Come back!" No, no, no—if he lost her too—

"Niënor?" M-02 exclaimed. "I've got eyes on her—I'll keep—"

A loud _bang_, and Mablung lost contact with M-02. He couldn't reach M-07 with his com, though he saw their ship was still on-line for the moment. Morwen had vanished long ago; he hadn't any idea what had happened to her.

"Niënor, I'm pulling up," he said, his voice grim. It was foolish to remain, even for her sake. "I hope you make it. If you don't—" He couldn't finish, whispering instead, "I want to kiss you back. Please live."

She did not reply, nor make any indication she had heard. Ice in his veins, Mablung retreated. Just as he left Nargothrond's atmosphere, he saw M-07, the last of his squadron, disappear from his tracker. Niënor's light flashed for a few moments longer, then disappeared.

Mablung was alone.

* * *

It was days before the chaos around Nargothrond cleared. The _Wyrm_ had shot itself into hyperspace after the initial attack, but the smaller Orctrooper ships stayed around to scavenge of the survivors. A quarter of the planet had been raided, the great underground cities of the main quadrant were utterly destroyed. Half the planet had been uninhabited, anyway; Mablung wouldn't wager that the remaining quarter would last much longer.

A chill settled over him. Ever since the Nírnaeth, things had been bleak for the rebels, but there had been some slivers of hope: Nargothrond's invincible skyport with its stringent security. Doriath's Girdle, fueled by Queen Melian's enchantments and Maia technology. Gondolin, the invisible planet, if it did indeed exist.

Now Nargothrond had fallen, and Mablung had a terrible feeling that his home would be next.

His entire squadron was down; he hoped they were dead and not captured. Morwen was lost, Niënor along with her; they were probably killed also. If, indeed, Túrin had ever been on Nargothrond like the rumors said, he was likely as deceased as they.

It would take a few more days for Mablung to feel safe enough to land, scouting out the surface for any signs of survivors. If Beleg were here, and not vanished in pursuit of Túrin also... A curse against the Jedi and the Line of Húrin rose to Mablung's lips, but it died before he could utter it. They all were as desperate and hopeless as he was.

The smoking wreckage of the once-great civilization was even more depressing up close. His heart heavy, Mablung stepped over charred corpses. Even with all his experience as a captain of Doriath, a Quend who had seen countless wars, he felt sick in the face of such brutality.

A voice—or perhaps the wail of a dying engine. Carefully, his hand on his blaster, Mablung stepped through the mess. He had landed here because a faint signal showed signs of one of the ships in his squad, but he had little hope. Even if one of the trackers hadn't been utterly destroyed, he doubted the soldier within the ship was in one piece.

The sound came again. It was definitely a voice. Wary of deception, Mablung rested his thumb above his blaster's trigger—but he needn't have worried.

Niënor lay amidst the wreckage of her ship, blond hair stained with blood. She had several broken bones, and the left side of her face was badly scarred, but what scared him most was the vacant look in her eyes. She wailed softly, but there was no emotion to it. It was a siren song.

Mablung dropped his defenses and rushed toward her. "Niënor!" he shouted hoarsely. "Niënor!"

She didn't look at him as he cried her name. He knelt beside her, and only when he touched her unmarred cheek did her empty grey gaze rest upon him, void of recognition.

Mablung swallowed. Something wasn't right here. "Niënor, it's me, Mablung," he said gently. "Do you remember me?"

She stared at him, mute. Even her gentle crying had stopped.

"Mablung." He laid a hand upon her breast, and realized with horror that it was sticky with blood. "Captain of Doriath. Your—your friend. Do you remember?"

Her eyes drifted, looking past him. Choking back tears, Mablung whispered, "Niënor, it's me. You teased me at Thingol's ball, the very first night you came to Doriath with your mother. I walked in on you bathing once, and I couldn't look at you for days afterward. You kissed me before I left with your mother, and I thought that would bring me luck, though I couldn't—" His voice broke. "I couldn't tell you, or kiss you back. It was bad enough that Beleg and Túrin..."

At her brother's name, Niënor flinched backward. Wild hope rose in Mablung's chest: she remembered! But soon she fell into subdued misery again, and he wept.

"I'm so sorry, Niënor," he sobbed. "I wish I could have protected you, but you were too damn stubborn, just like your brother. You followed me when I forbade it—you must have been planning it all along. Niënor—I love you."

She said nothing. No fire of memory flickered within her at his confession; she was a living ghost.

Weary and broken, Mablung picked her up, cradling her in his arms. "I'm taking you home, Niënor," he murmured. "Melian can heal you, I know it. I'm taking you back, and we can make things right."

He kissed her brow, and she sighed, leaning into his shoulder, but he knew it was only her exhaustion and no echo of her love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting!  
You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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